


The only difference between kidding and kissing is one stupid letter

by TheIcyQueen



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Blood and Injury, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Humor, Prompt Fic, Tumblr Prompt, cameos by most of kirkwalls finest!, well okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-04
Updated: 2019-08-04
Packaged: 2020-07-30 19:55:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20102746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheIcyQueen/pseuds/TheIcyQueen
Summary: "Honestly, Varric? I think we should just kiss."It had started as a joke...it really had! But sometimes jokes took root.





	The only difference between kidding and kissing is one stupid letter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bigasswritingmagnet (thekumquat)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thekumquat/gifts).

> This started off as a prompt fill for bi-ass-magnet on tumblr and quickly spiraled out of hand (as most Hawke/Varric things do, when left in my gobliny hands).

It had started as a joke. Really. It _had_.

They’d been looking down at the felled Coterie goons with varying degrees of exasperation, the muffled sounds of the Hanged Man behind them.

“So…whaddya think?”

Hawke had set her boot against one of the bodies to steady it, reaching down to unceremoniously yank one of Bianca’s bolts from out of its thighs. The sound had been, in a word, _horrendous_. “About _what?_ These poor buffoons? The swill we just drank? The whole…” she’d waved the bloody bolt in the air in a vague gesture, “_Partnership _thing?”

And he’d laughed heartily, accepting the bolt when Hawke offered it. “Eh, any of it. All of it. What’re you thinking?”

She’d considered it for all of five seconds before kneeling down, wasting no time in looting the bodies. “Honestly? I think we should just kiss. Between the promise of all that sweet, sweet, forgotten thaig treasure, the _terrible_ booze, and _this_—” She’d waved over the bodies again. “Tonight has sort of been my _ideal_, romantic evening.”

There’d been a beat of silence, broken only by the drunken shouting from behind the tavern’s doors, and then, in almost perfect unison, they’d snickered. From that moment on, the Tethras-Hawke alliance had been a done deal.

So…yeah, it had started as a joke.

And—well, all right, maybe that wasn’t really saying much. _Everything_ started as a joke when they were involved. Jokes were what they _did!_ It was part of the whole rogue shtick! If you could get someone laughing, be they a friend, enemy, or mark, you could sway your odds. Maybe it would win you a favor, or a moment to slip away before blades were drawn, or, hell, distraction enough to grab a coin purse and book it. In that way, they were never _really _unarmed. Nah, not with their stockpile: in-jokes, snide jokes, jokes muttered so quietly only the other could hear, jokes loud enough to be heard across a crowded tavern, jokes that took twenty minutes to hit the punch line, jokes at other people’s expense, jokes at _their_ expense, just…jokes!

Hawke hadn’t _meant_ it that first time! After all, the two of them had only known each other for a few hours when they’d left the Hanged Man, still trying to iron out the finer points of how they were going to deal with Bartrand. And fine, maybe that was simplifying things, because they’d known _of_ each other for the better part of a year (when you made a career of slogging through Kirkwall’s underbelly, there were certain names, certain _reputations_ that became impossible to ignore), but they’d still only known each other _personally_ since that afternoon, so of _course_ it had only been a _joke_…

But sometimes jokes took root.

***

“So…” Hawke said, head high, self-assured swagger in her step, showing no evidence of being at all bothered by the shouting they’d just endured. “I don’t think Bartrand is particularly _thrilled_ with this partnership of ours.”

Though he could still feel his brother’s gaze boring red-hot holes into the back of his head, Varric rolled his eyes. “Don’t let it get to you. I’m pretty sure that nowadays furious diatribes are just how he shows his _affection_.”

“We should introduce him to Mother! Oh, they would have so much in common.” She glanced down, making a show of busying herself with the straps of her armor. “Are they all still watching us?”

“Probably.”

“No interest in turning ‘round and checking, then?”

Varric scoffed, “That’s not really how you play hard to get, Hawke.”

She clucked her tongue before sighing quietly. “I’ll take your word for it.” It wasn’t until they made their way to the open air of Hightown’s marketplace that she sated her own curiosity, briefly glancing over her shoulder in the direction of the Merchants’ Guild. “Well, now that we _know_ we’re going to be the black sheep of this operation…what do you think our next move should be?”

That was the question, wasn’t it? He groaned as he rubbed at the back of his neck, trying to shake off the last angry prickles of frustration. “Shit, Hawke, how should I know?” He heaved a sigh of his own before dropping his hands at his sides. “I mean…we could kiss to break the tension?”

Hawke didn’t laugh so much as _snort_, the sound loud enough to startle the nearby vendor into taking a step back. “That’s true,” she answered, keeping her voice playfully flat. “We could, indeed.”

***

“_HAWKE!_”

There was hardly enough time for him to look up and process the dark blur flying into his room before the heavy _thunk!_ of his door being shut could be heard. It ducked itself behind the high back of his chair, the floorboards creaking under the new weight. He set down the report he’d been reading through, rolling his eyes up towards the ceiling. “What did you do?”

“Nothing!” Hawke’s voice was insistent…but less than convincing. “Why is it that whenever someone’s angry, it’s automatically _assumed_ it’s my fault?!”

“Probably because—”

“—It usually is, fine, _fine!_”

“I was _going to say_ something more along the lines of, ‘It’s _your_ name she’s shouting,’ but far be it from me to disagree with you. You know, Hawke, they say the first step towards healing is admitting you have a problem, so I for one am _incredibly_ proud of you for this landma—”

Popping out from behind the chair, Hawke glared up at him. “If she comes knocking, don’t tell her I’m here.” Her eyes flicked nervously towards the door to his suite, brow furrowing in concentration. Something was making an awful lot of noise out in the hallway…was it Norah with some plates? Edwina showing someone to their room? Or was Aveline about to bust her way in? She shrank back behind the chair preemptively. “I’ll deal with her _later_, once she’s calmed down.”

With a long-suffering sigh, Varric folded his hands and set his chin atop his thumbs. “Interesting use of the word ‘if.’ _If_ she comes knocking. As though…what? Since you shut the door and she can’t _see_ you, she’s going to forget she saw you run back this way?”

“A girl can _hope_.”  
  
“She’s a _guard_, not a _nug_. She has _object permanence_.”

“You don’t know that!”

He tried not to laugh. It was a futile attempt. “I’m hearing an awful lot of clanking…I sure hope you have a plan better than ‘hide behind dwarf until the mean lady goes away.’”

Her silence was so immediate, so _significant_, he knew at once that no, _no, _she didn’t have anything better than that. But Hawke was nothing, if not good at thinking on her feet—or, in that instance, her haunches. “Okay, so bear with me on this one.”

“Mhm?”

“We both know she’s going to find me.”

“That we do.”

“Here’s what I propose. I get out from behind the chair.”

“All right.”

“I get up _onto_ the table.”

He frowned, trying to follow her logic. “…all right?”

“We kiss.”

“…uh huh?”

“And when Aveline throws the door open, only to find us in a passionate embrace, she’ll be so _mortified_ that she’ll turn on her heel and lea—”

When the door to his room was forced open, Varric wasn’t entirely surprised to see how _red_ Aveline’s face was. “Looks like we missed our chance, huh?”

***

After that, it was difficult to pinpoint precisely when it _stopped_ being a joke. But…it _did_. It _did _stop being a joke. Somewhere down the line, it became less and less ridiculous, less funny, and instead turned into something else entirely. It wasn’t the sort of thing that happened overnight or got switched on and off, and still…

“_Everyone still alive?_” Hawke didn’t like the tremor in her voice, not one whit. She sat sprawled on the ground, the serpentine neck of the dragon twisted in such a way that its eyes peered sightlessly up into her own. It was unexpectedly hard for her to look away from the beast, some primal voice in the back of her mind screaming that she had to stay wary, lest it pull in a breath or snap its jaws.

From behind her, Anders’s voice rang out, “Fine!” There was a faint echo to it, suggesting he was still a ways back, having stuck near the mine’s exit.

“Never a dull moment with you, is there?” Fenris offered her a hand, which she gratefully took, both watching the massive form of the dragon as it grew cold.

“You know me,” she grunted as she got to her feet, muscles lodging protest, “Always looking for a good time.”

“And _this_ is your idea of a good time? I’m starting to understand why no one invites you places.” Varric brushed himself off, surveying the wreckage of the scene. “_Dragons_. Of course he gets himself a mine full of _dragons_. You got the gold upfront, right?”

“Did I get the gold upfront…” Hawke feigned an insulted scoff. “Who do you think I _am?_ Of _course_ I got it upfront.” Apprehensively, she nudged the dragon’s head with her boot, grimacing widely as she applied more pressure. “I almost feel sort of _bad_ for killing it. They’re so…_majestic_, you know?”

Fenris let out a low noise that could’ve been mistaken for a laugh. “Nothing screams ‘majesty’ like vomiting fire.”

“Now, see, you just sound _jealous_.” She turned over her shoulder as he walked past, “Can I trust the two of you to go check for survivors without slaughtering each other in the process?” Hawke resisted the urge to cluck her tongue like some old biddy as she watched Anders and Fenris sizing each other up near the exit. “_Fine_. You’re allowed to slaughter each other. Just be sure you do it out in the open so that you’re easy for me to find. I want to be able to strip you of valuables when I find your corpses.”

“Ha ha, Hawke.”

She bent over, hands on her hips, still examining the dragon, trying to see whether it had stashed anything interesting in its nest. “Oh no, I’m being deathly serious. I’ve had my eye on those gauntlets of yours, Fenris. And Anders? I have no idea what that feathery thing on your shoulders is, but I _want_ it.”

“Ugh.”

“Could you imagine? Me? Wearing feathers? _Hawke?_ Feathers? It’s—” When she turned around again, they were nowhere to be found. “Come on. That was clever.”

From her side, Varric sighed. “There’s no accounting for taste.”

“Guess not.” She poked around the nest for another moment or two, finding very little of interest. “I’m going to _kill_ Hubert. ‘_Oooh, all ze miners are missing_!’” she drawled in a terrible approximation of an Orlesian accent. “‘_Do not worry, serah, I am sure eet ees all a, how you say, misunderstanding! Definitely no dragons een my mine, non! Giant spiders? But of course! But dragons? Hon hon hon, non!_’” She turned, smirking, expecting a laugh; instead, she looked around just in time to watch Varric readjust his duster to cover…something. “What is that?” Hawke asked, surprised at how abruptly the humor had left her voice.

He waved her off dismissively, shifting Bianca’s holster on his back. “Just a scratch. Go back to your terrible impression—if there _are_ any survivors left around here, you’ll make short work of them with _that_ monstrosity.”

But _that_ would never do. Oh nonono, not when her stomach was threatening to launch itself up into her mouth, her heart thundering as though the dragon had popped up onto its hind legs and begun spewing flames again. “You’re bleeding,” she said, voice still oddly flat in her own ears.

“So are _you_. It’s not a big deal.”

Hawke paused, slowly reaching up to her own face as he said it, feeling around until her fingers hit the small slick running down her chin. It was at that moment her body finally let her process the injury, the split in her lip stinging smartly. She wiped her fingers off on her armor, shaking her head, “You’re _hurt_, why didn’t you _say_ anything?” Rounding on him, she pulled at the lapel of his duster. “Show me.”

“Hawke.”

“_Show me_.” Something in her tone must’ve done it that time, because as she watched, he rolled his eyes and pulled back the right side of his duster with a noticeable wince. Her gut clenched, knotted, and then dropped into her feet, the force of it nearly enough to send her rocking on her heels. “Maker’s _balls_, Varric! It—”

“It’s _shallow_,” he finished for her, flicking his left hand up and down once to bring attention to the obvious slashes in his shirt. Four of them. Running from the right side of his ribs down to just above his left hip. To his credit, they _did_ appear to be shallow, from what she could see of his skin, but it was…it was of very little comfort.

Some part of her realized she was staring, her throat tight and knees threatening to turn into jelly. “…in half,” she muttered. Her jaw felt too loose, too numb, to form the right shapes for the words tumbling about in her skull. “It almost cut you in half.”

He groaned and closed his duster again. “It barely caught me! _You’re_ the one who’s going to be feeling all of this tomorrow. You’re a walking _bruise!_”

Hawke screwed her eyes shut against the wave of vertigo threatening to send her careening over the Bone Pit’s ledge. _It could’ve killed you_, she wanted to say, _It _almost_ killed you_. Between the dryness of her tongue and the swelling of her lip, she couldn’t seem to spit the words out. “Ooh, you need healing. You need healing right now. And there’s…_Maker,_ I just sent him off ahead.”

“I don’t need healing.”

“You _do_.”

“All right, how about this? We gotta finish this job—if there _are_ survivors, _they’re_ the ones who need Blondie, not _me_, so if it’s really worrying you that much, why don’t you kiss it, make it better, and then we keep going? Work for you?” He snickered as he said it, sucking in a harsh breath through his teeth when a holster strap rubbed against one of the gashes, looking down to shift it back into a more comfortable position.

And it was a good thing that he averted his eyes when he did, because Hawke wasn’t sure she’d be able to talk her way out of whatever her face was doing just then. Her blood was only beginning to warm from the sudden surge of terror the wounds had triggered, her muscles softening from stone, leaving her feeling drained and unsteady on her feet. It was crashing down around her in that moment, realization or understanding or something like it, and she found she had to very literally force herself to inhale.

He had said it as a joke, but she wasn’t laughing. She’d never felt farther from laughter in her _life_, and that was saying a whole hell of a lot, considering. Hawke didn’t want to laugh, she wanted to grab Varric Tethras by the shoulders, give him a brusque shake for good measure, and…shit. _Shit_. She wanted very, very much to kiss him and make it all better—better for _herself_, if not his injuries. Her body was still reacting as though it had been _she_ who’d almost been cleaved clean in two, and the implications of _that_ were…dizzying.

She managed to twist her bleeding mouth into something vaguely resembling her usual grin, nudging him with her hip as she walked past. “Unfortunately for you, I have it on good authority that Anders is _much_ more skilled in that area than I am.” Sticking her head back into the mine, she cupped her hands around her mouth. “_Anders!_” she called, voice echoing strangely through the tunnels.

From behind her, Varric made a loud sound of exasperation. “_Hawke_."

“_Anders! Get up here right now and kiss this dwarf!_”

There was a moment of silence from the belly of the mines, and then, distantly, almost too softly to be heard, “_What?!_”

***

“Anyone sitting here?”

“Always got room for you, Sunshine.”

Bethany smiled as she slid into the chair across from him, strategically placing her elbows on the table so that she didn’t come in contact with any of the stickier patches. Usually her resemblance to Hawke was slight (dark hair, bright eyes, fair skin), but when she leaned in towards him, it was positively _uncanny_. Probably just the shit lighting of the Hanged Man playing off the shadows of her face, or maybe the fact she had her hair tied back out of her face, or…aw, shit. No, it was the grin. It was absolutely, unquestionably the _grin_.

Experience had taught him what _that_ particular look meant, when it came from a Hawke. “Uh oh,” Varric said, sizing her up carefully as he reached for his tankard. “Now, why am I getting the _distinct_ feeling that this little visit is for business and not pleasure?”

She giggled, shooting a quick glance over her shoulder toward where the others had gathered for a round of darts. Whatever she saw there seemed to sate her curiosity; she turned back to him, lowering her voice confidentially. “You’re someone who…_appreciates_ information, aren’t you, Varric?”

Interest piqued, he took a pull on his drink and quirked a brow. “That’s certainly one way to put it. Are you, uh…” he looked over her shoulder as well, watching as Isabela and Hawke walked Merrill through the finer points of throwing sharp things at the wall. “Are you looking for information, Sunshine? Cuz I gotta be honest, usually it’s more of a transactional thing…” he teased.

“Funny you should say that, because I actually had a trade of sorts in mind!” Beaming, Bethany stifled another laugh. “I would really, _truly_ appreciate it if you could answer a question of mine. It’s been…” she pursed her lips in thought as she searched for the right word. “Well, it’s been bothering me a _lot_, as of late, and I would like to put it to rest once and for all.”

“All right…” Varric said slowly, waiting for the other shoe to drop. “And in return…?”

The Hawke grin was back. Bethany leaned closer, shifting so that her hands obscured her mouth from anyone who might’ve been watching. “_I’ll_ tell _you_ something embarrassing about my sweet sister.”

He narrowed his eyes, realizing belatedly that he had leaned in as well, subconsciously mirroring her posture. It was, admittedly, a _much_ more intriguing offer than the kind he usually got. He considered Bethany for a long while, drumming his fingertips against the table. “You’d tell me _anything_ I want to know? That’s a tall order—”

She shook her head and hummed a sharp sound to the contrary. “Oh no, I have one _very_ specific secret I’m willing to part with. But…” she raised her shoulders in an innocent shrug, fluttering her eyelashes and averting her gaze. “It’s a _good_ one…”

Anyone in the business—well, anyone in the business _worth their salt_—knew you never showed your hand too early. Never gave in right away, as it were. So he pretended to think it over, taking another long drink and moving his face around in all the necessary ways to put on a good show. The temptation was too much, though. Hawke was something of an open book, so any little hidden gem Bethany was willing to give him was probably worth whatever question she had.

Probably.

Waving his hand with a grand flourish, he prompted her on, eyebrows raised high in anticipation.

There was a glint in her eyes at that, making her look more like Hawke than ever. It was right about then that Varric realized what a mistake he’d made. He’d been expecting something about Kirkwall, or his business, or hell, maybe the expedition. _Nothing_ could’ve prepared him for Bethany’s actual question. “Do you fancy my sister?”

Thank Andraste’s perky tits he’d spent the past decade perfecting his poker face. Still, _something_ must’ve shown, because Bethany’s eyes and smile widened to near-elfish proportions. He tried to compensate by shooting her a humoring look, as though she’d said something perfectly nonsensical. “Sunshine, I don’t know how to break it to you…_everyone_ in Kirkwall fancies your sister. She’s—” he went to point in Hawke’s direction, expression faltering when he saw how the scene had devolved. Merrill was still having a go at the dartboard, but the others had apparently lost interest—Hawke was standing _on_ a table, surrounded by a fair number of people, one of whom was an exceptionally exasperated Aveline (who _seemed_ to be berating her, though he couldn’t hear what was being said from that distance). Isabela came rushing over from the bar, handing Hawke a full bottle of something dark, leading the crowd in cheers when Hawke began chugging it down. “—well. She’s. She’s got a _big_ personality.”

Bethany grimaced as she stole a glance back at the debacle. “That she does,” she sighed. When she turned back to Varric, she squared her shoulders in an effort to appear more forceful. “But I didn’t _ask_ you about _Kirkwall_. I asked about _you_.” It was her turn to raise her eyebrows. “So? _Do_ you?” Before he had any opportunity to respond, she held up an admonishing finger, “We had a deal! You can’t go back on a deal!”

Varric looked down into his tankard for a moment, finding himself all at once grappling with a few of his own questions. “That’s a real complicated thing you’re asking about,” he said, not entirely sure whether he was addressing Bethany or himself.

“It’s not!” she insisted, folding her arms across her chest. “It’s a very _easy_ question, in fact. It’s either yes or no, that’s as simple as questions come, last I checked.”

He poked at an eyetooth with his tongue. He looked back up to her, still not saying anything, still trying to decide how to best proceed, and _again_, she reacted as though he’d written the answer on his forehead in large, black letters.

“You _do!_”

“It isn’t—”

“You _do!_” she repeated, her voice a gleeful stage whisper above the shouts from behind them. “I _knew_ it!”

“You don’t know _anything_,” he droned, trying (and failing) to pretend he _wasn’t_ beginning to succumb to a very particular breed of juvenile embarrassment. He felt very much as though they were _all_ children again in that moment, and any second now the pointing and laughing would begin. “It’s not that clear-cut, Sunshine. Things get..._messier_ when you’re our age, and—”

Bethany shook her head briskly, the tiny nub of a ponytail before her head flicking from side to side. “I’m sure they do, and that’s all fine and good, but my question’s been answered. So. Don’t you want to know what _I_ have to tell _you?_”

Shoulders rising and falling with a deep breath, Varric opened his mouth to reply, then stopped. He scanned her face again, not sure he trusted what he saw there. Never before had he thought of Bethany Hawke—sweet, soft-spoken Bethany Hawke—as any sort of threat to his wellbeing. Just then, though? Sitting across from him and grinning like the cat that’d gotten the cream? He suddenly wasn’t too sure. “…_do_ I want to know?” he asked her, without the faintest trace of flippancy.

“_I_ think so.” She sat up straighter, picking an imaginary piece of lint from her shoulder and flicking it away. The cheering behind them changed, causing her to turn around for an instant. Bethany spun back to him as Hawke hopped down off the other table, leaning in close before quickly saying, “_She_ fancies _you_, too.”

“Uh oh…what’re _you two_ talking about?” Significantly more inebriated than she’d been last time they spoke, Hawke set a hand against the tabletop, resting her weight against it.

“You,” Bethany said, words curled in the saccharine way only younger siblings could manage, eyes dancing with mischief as she turned away from Varric to look up at her sister. “Oh Maker, you’re sauced.”

“I’m _not!_”

He stared at Bethany for a second longer, trying to reconcile the past few minutes in his head. It was slow goings, made slower by Hawke’s proximity. “Eh, I was just showing the smaller Hawke how to beat her sister at Wicked Grace. Not that it takes _too_ much effort.”

Hawke blew a raspberry, the breath ruffling her bangs from out of her face. “Showing her how to _cheat_, you mean. I see how it is.” Her words were very slurred, the heavier notes of her Fereldan lilt making a rare appearance. As she stood there between them, her body swayed slightly from side to side like the Hanged Man wasn’t a tavern but a schooner pushing through choppy seas. “_Please_ don’t tell Mother you were playing Wicked Grace,” she added as an afterthought, shoulders slouching in Bethany’s direction.

“Wouldn’t _dream_ of it.” She flashed Varric another quick smile, cocking an eyebrow in a manner that had no right to be half as menacing as it was. “Never mind him, Varric was just keeping me company until you were finished, uh…doing whatever it was you were doing back there.”

“_Darts!_ Merrill is _shit_. Still better than Anders, though.”

“Darts, yes, of course.” Bethany started to stand, taking Hawke’s arm. “Well, I know _I_ had a lovely time tonight,” she said, turning her attention back to Varric. “I feel like I’ve learned _so much_.” Her smirk was ruined when Hawke took a lurching step, sending both of them stumbling to one side. “All right, and it’s time to get you home, I think.”

“Oh Maker, yes, bed please,” Hawke mumbled messily, scooping her hair back out of her face. She let Bethany begin to lead her away, then thought better of it, reaching over and tousling Varric’s hair, “Thank you for keeping her safe tonight! I could _kiss_ you!” Bethany let out a loud laugh at that, causing Hawke to break into titters, and the two of them stumbled out of the Hanged Man and into the night, leaving Varric to stare into his drink.

***

Dog’s ears perked up as he lifted his head from his paws, his tail thwapping loudly against the docks, and Hawke knew she had company. She didn’t turn around, instead staring down into the foamy caps of the waves, languidly swinging her legs over the edge. Her pants were rolled up to her knees, letting her soak her feet and calves in the chilly water. “Is this the part where I ask if you’ve been following me?” she asked the air, leaning her weight back against her arms. “Or the part where I turn around a second too late and get my throat slit? I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but unfortunately I haven’t gotten that far into _Darktown’s Deal_, yet, so I’m not positive what my line is.”

“_Darktown’s Deal_? Shit, why would you read _that_ dreck?”

She laughed, lifting one of her legs out of the water to watch the goosepimples creep their way up to her knee. “Long story short, I know the author. I keep _hoping_ one of these days he’ll sign my copy for me, but whenever I ask, he’s _mysteriously _misplaced his pen.”

“Maybe he’s ashamed of writing something as awful as _Darktown’s Deal_.” Varric made a point to pat Dog’s head before hunkering down on the edge of the dock next to Hawke. “Then again, at least it’s not _The Dasher’s Men_. That’ll literally rot your brains out of your head.”

“_Hey_, I _liked_ that one.”

“No you didn’t.”

“I _did!_” There was a quiet splash as she dipped her leg back into the waves. “My favorite so far is _The Viper’s Nest_, though. The plot? Eh. The steamier bits? _Masterful_. Poetry.” Hawke snickered when Varric groaned, nudging him with her elbow. “Own up—you following me, Tethras? This is a bit of a jaunt from your _palatial suite_.”

Returning her nudge, he gave the docks a quick cursory scan. It wasn’t the _best_ of places to linger at night, that much was for sure, but then again, it would’ve taken a special kind of stupid for someone to spot the two of them, the dreaded Tethras-Hawke menace, and decide to pull some fuckery. “This is gonna surprise you, so I’ll say it as gently as I can: I do, in fact, have a life outside of the Hanged Man.”

Hawke gasped so loudly that Dog barked, hopping up onto his feet. “I—no, no! Oh Maker, don’t…” Laughing, she reached behind herself, trying to catch hold of the mabari’s collar. “Down, _down!_ I didn’t mean it!” He turned a couple slow circles around the both of them before plopping himself onto the dock again, setting his massive head in Hawke’s lap. “Duly noted. Life outside of the Hanged Man. So you’re just wandering around the docks at night doing things of questionable legality? That’s what _I_ was doing too! Oh, we have so much in common. We could be such great friends, you and I.”

“_Questionable_ legality? Madam, you insult me. When have I ever willingly engaged in anything _legal?_” He smirked, scratching one of Dog’s ears now that he was closer. “Thought I’d get start on putting everything in order before this expedition. Get the drudgery out of the way.”

“Ah, right, in case we all die horrible, terrible deaths down in the dark.”

Varric turned to her, doing nothing to hide his grimace. “Really, Hawke?”

“Well I’m just _saying_.”

“No one’s going to _die_.”

“We _could_.”

“I—why are you saying that like you’re _excited _about it?!”

She shrugged, meeting his eyes with a shit-eating grin. “Maybe it’ll be Bartrand. That’s all I’m saying.”

Despite himself, Varric laughed. “It’s going to take more than a darkspawn or two to kill _that_ nughumper.”

“Athenril had a job that needed done out here.” Hawke had developed a habit of turning the conversation away from the expedition, those days. The closer it got, the less she seemed to want to talk about it, _especially_ when the topic of darkspawn came up. House Hawke didn’t have the luckiest track record, where darkspawn were concerned. “It was a whole lot of nothing, really, done in an hour…then I realized I just did _not_ want to go home yet.” She heaved a weary sigh, letting her head loll back to stare up at the stars. “It gets so cramped in there, you know? All of us and Gamlen.”

“When he’s not at the Rose,” Varric added under his breath.

Hawke reached out with the hand nearest him, flicking his ear jokingly. “_Maker_. You’d think it would be _better_ with him spending so much time there, wouldn’t you? But it’s really…_so much worse?_” Her laughter bubbled up and out, a sound that seemed too bright for the shadowy port. “Before, he was just annoying. Now it’s like ‘Oh hello Uncle, your pockets seem terribly light this morning! I do _so_ wonder where all that coin has gone! Hmm…you weren’t doing anything _naughty_ last night, were you? Perhaps smelling strange women’s hair?’”

“No, _no_, I draw the line! Absolutely not. We are not talking about this.”

“Welcome to _my_—”

“No! I’m not going to sit here and talk about your _uncle_—”

“You should, though! You should listen, it might give you ideas for your next serial.”

“Hawke.”

“_Good_ ideas.”

“_Hawke_.”

“Here, I’ll even start the scene for you: And so the strange man with the peculiar hairline sauntered into the brothel, breeches full to the brim with his ill-gotten silvers. ‘Madam Lusine!’ the man hollered, clearly very drunk and also very poorly dressed, ‘I’ve heard tales that you have a special service for naughty boys, and I, dear lady, have been very, very nau—’”

Varric wasted no time in covering her mouth with his hand, tightening his fingers just enough that she couldn’t throw him off. “If I let go of you and you _keep_ doing that, I’m going to push you _into _the sea, Hawke.” He rolled his eyes when Dog raised his head, letting out a less-than-menacing growl. “I _will_,” he said to the mabari, “You’re hearing what she’s saying, right?” He dropped his hand, letting it fall not to his side, but across her shoulders, giving her a playful shake. “I have never been so glad that I can’t dream. I am _positive_ that image would haunt my sleep for _years_ to come.”

“Thank you, mental scarring is one of many, _many_ talents I pride myself on.” Hawke let herself sink into the half-hug, tilting herself to the side until she could set her head on Varric’s shoulder. They sat like that for a long time, watching the waves warp and stretch the moon’s reflection, scattering the stars into all manner of new constellations. Save for the crashing tide and the occasional far-off voice, the docks were quiet and cool and lovely—quite the change from the usual chaos of the Hanged Man. When Hawke finally spoke up again, her tone was reticent. “So. You got any plans once we get back from the expedition? Any big purchases you’ve been dreaming about?”

He exhaled deeply through his nose, shrugging with the shoulder she wasn’t resting against. “Honestly? I haven’t given it a whole lot of thought. Especially since—”

“We all might die horrible, terrible deaths down in the dark. Yeah.”

“No one is _dying_, Hawke, Maker’s _breath_.” Varric chuckled, eyes tracing the shape of a ship’s mast as it appeared on the horizon. “How about you?”

She rolled her eyes as though he could see them. “You’re asking _me_ if I’ve _planned_ anything? You really don’t know me at _all_, do you? Plans for the future, pah! I don’t even know what I’m doing for the rest of _tonight_, Varric. _Plans_.”

And there it was. There it _was_.

Clearing his throat quietly, Varric pretended to mull the sentiment over, slowly nodding along with her. “Of course. How could I have been so foolish. But, uh, you know…I, myself, am something of a planner.”

“I’d noticed, actually.”

“Oh, had you?”

“Mhm.”

“See, it’s funny you’d bring tonight up! You’re in luck—as it turns out, I think _I_ have an idea of what we could do tonight, now that we’ve both finished our respective…what did you call them?”

“Tasks of questionable legality.”

“Tasks of questionable legality, yes. Are you in the _market_ for ideas?”

She scratched at Dog’s ears, listening to the rhythmic thumping of his tail against the ground. “I am _always_ in the market for ideas. But only if they’re _bad_ ideas.”

“Oh, this one could…this one will probably constitute as some kind of bad, don’t you fret about that.” And it was so _ridiculous_, because he’d said the words a _thousand_ times before, in a _thousand_ different places, and never _once_ had they been so difficult to get out. “We could kiss.”

Hawke snorted a quiet laugh as she kicked her legs in the surf. “Yeah, guess I didn’t consider that one. We sure could.” Her laughter only began to taper when she realized Varric wasn’t joining in. Frowning slightly, confused, she lifted her head to ask what the matter was…only to find him looking down at her like…oh.

_Oh_.

“We could,” Hawke said again, saying it as though the possibility had only just occurred to her. Before she realized what she was doing, her hands were in his hair and her lips were against his, and they were kissing—really _kissing_—as though it had never been a joke at all. And shit, maybe it _hadn’t_, but that thought could wait. It could all wait.


End file.
